Against the world
by BlueMary J. Royard
Summary: Sometimes he dreams of Ragnarök. Everything is burning and the smell of blood is so intense it seems like it can reach the monster hidden beneath his skin. There are only him and Stark, standing on a ground covered in corpses, the only winners in a war that annihilated existence itself. [FrostIron, post Avengers, canon divergence from Thor: TDW]


_Story written for the Italian p0rnfest7 with the prompt 'Loki/Tony Stark, angst'._

_A huge thank goes to my beta cara-tanaka, you're awesome, darling!_

_Warnings: sexual content, mild dub-con, mind control, bondage._

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**Against the world**

Stark is so warm, he seems like he's burning, under his mouth. He savors his skin, making him quiver and suffocate his moans while he traces the circle of Stark's belly-button with his tongue, before lowering again to almost reach his erection.

He doesn't take it in his mouth, yet, nor does he stop there to tease the base of his cock until he can hear Stark beg; for now, he just wants to feel his warmth.

A warmth that, in his own flesh, is only a lie born from the best and cruelest liar of the Nine Realms.

"_Your birthright was to die!"_

Then you should have let me die, father.

_They are in the throne room and he is chained like an animal._

_And it's the last time that he has allowed himself to think of Odin as his father. The last time he has hoped that there was a family even for a monster like he was. That Odin could listen to him just once. That he could acknowledge him._

_It's the last time he hopes, before everything shatters around him – and he shatters too._

_And then, there is only the truth._

_Odin would never consider him as his son, has never loved him so, and Loki would never be worthy enough, would never be anything different than a stolen relic that made its time and lost his usefulness._

_His so called father wanted him executed and the man who professed to be his brother is far away; they have both disowned him and deep inside his heart a monster madly laughs._

_While he meets the only eye of the liar that he once considered his father, he realizes he has never stopped falling._

He bits Stark's thigh hard, leaving the mark of his teeth, and the mortal startles.

"Is it a new kind of torture to pretend to want to blow me and make me crazy with the wait, just to become the sexy version of Dracula and then sink your teeth terribly near to where your mouth should have been?" Stark pants, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "Because I have to tell you, it's fucking effective".

Loki leaves his thigh to lift his head from Stark's body, searching for his eyes. They are impatient and unfocused, burning with desire. And they are blue, of the same shade of the Reactor.

_Stark is tense, despite his calm expression. He is brave and collected, Loki has to give him that, because the mortal doesn't step back even when he lifts his scepter. Instead, Stark arches his brow with an amused gaze._

"_Performance issues part two? I thought you realized your glow-stick of destiny doesn't work on me. Maybe you should try again with the window, you can be lucky this time", he suggests, pointing at the glass wall with an hand occupied by a half full glass of liquor._

_Loki smiles, ready to claim the most interesting toy among those lost creatures and false heroes that dared to defy him, and at the same time to take the first step towards his vengeance._

"_This time I know where to hit", he murmurs almost sweetly, before touching the mortal with his scepter in the left part of his chest._

_This time, he hits his skin instead of metal and the glass shattering on the carpet is the only answer that he receives. Then, the mortal's eyes paint themselves with the blue of his victory._

He didn't order Stark to satisfy him. He could have enslaved his mind, he can kill his friends in front of his eyes, he can order him to kill them himself, to murder the mortals that had once been his friends and companions and fellow heroes – and one day he'll do it and their screams will be the sweet accompaniment of his own laughter.

But he would never step so low as to look for pleasure in a man who is a slave of his will.

It had been Stark who looked for him for sex, the first time.

The same as when the mortal had come to him some minutes before, interrupting his reading.

"_Don't you ever sleep, Rock of Ages?", Stark murmured against his skin, before biting his neck._

_It had been a bite both gentle and needy, the mortal's teeth pressing against his flesh until they marked his skin in a silent request._

_And Loki couldn't help but to give it to him, grabbing Stark and trapping his warm body under himself with a hand on his back to keep him still and at the same time to make the mortal realize how helpless and weak he was in front of a god._

_It was him who had the control, who could kill Stark with a laughable effort and an even more laughable pretense. Just because he wanted to._

Now Stark is on his back, his wrists bound to the bed with a green rope which is softer than silk and stronger than iron. When Loki pushes a finger into him and the mortal squirms and arches his back, he reveals a shadow of a smile.

"You have no idea what real torture is".

Or maybe the mortal does, because Loki knows his story and what happened to him during his time in Afghanistan, the fear that has remained in his memories and that's always ready to return to being real every time the mortal finds himself surrounded by water. But nothing of what Stark experienced can come close to his fall into the Void and Thanos.

He withdraws his finger before pushing it again into his hole, too slowly to give the mortal what he desires. He wants to tease him, to make him desperate and mad from arousal, to feel him losing his control under his hands.

Stark shivers.

"And yet I know it, and you know I know it. You had me telling you the whole story of my splendid life, Harry Potter".

He moans, then, pressing himself against his finger, so warm and aroused.

Stark is completely his, like no other lover has been before.

The mortal's light blue eyes searches for his gaze, his expression hardening even if he can't hide his arousal, nor can he completely suppress a pant.

"You're not the only one who had mister dad-of-the-year as a father".

"Be silent, Stark".

He hushes him with a bite so deep he wounds him and, under him, Stark arches and moans again in a mix of pain and pleasure. He licks the small wound clean, savoring the strange taste of his blood, so alive and _warm_ and rich with the power that flows in Stark's veins and radiates light from inside his chest.

He owns Stark and wants the mortal to be focused completely on him: on his fingers that caresses his frail skin, on his eyes that study his every reaction, on his mouth that devours him. For once, Loki wants to be the center of everything.

_He._

_Not Thor._

Thor doesn't exist in his thoughts anymore. Nor does he in his memories, nor in his heart.

He has become a stranger, a man Loki yearns to destroy with a cold, distant rage that carries nothing of the emotions he has always felt in his regard, even when he was fighting him on Midgard during his invasion.

He doesn't feel anything for him anymore, since he realized that Thor's desire to take him back home had been fulfilled with a solitude of a cell without bars nor life – _when the man who called himself his brother left him to rot, forgotten and disowned, in a loneliness and a boredom that devoured him from the inside with the same intensity of his hatred._

_Sometimes, Loki wonders if Thanos isn't actually a being who had been rejected by another Odin, the newborn from another race of monsters who grew up in lies and finally let go, falling into a void that consumed him until he became pure darkness._

_Sometimes, Loki wonders if Thanos is what he'll become once he'll accept the void inside his chest and let himself be devoured by it until nothing of his emotions or memories remains._

"Look at me, Stark".

And as always, the mortal obeys. He opens his eyes and stares into Loki's own, with his mouth half open and his face flushed and sweaty.

Maybe Stark would have obeyed even without the influx of the scepter, or maybe he would have tried to kill him even when his body was taking so much pleasure from Loki's touch and mouth. But it doesn't matter: he won't risk losing his favorite toy, the only being he actually wants at his side.

Not until everything ends.

_Sometimes he dreams of Ragnarök. Everything is burning and the smell of blood is so intense it seems like it can reach the monster hidden beneath his skin. There are only him and Stark, standing on a ground covered in corpses, the only winners in a war that annihilated existence itself._

_Sometimes he dreams of Stark moaning into his mouth, so tight and warm around his cock while he thrusts into him and the hole that the mortal has in his chest beats one last time, and then he comes inside Stark crushing the Reactor with a moan that is half a laughter._

_Sometimes he dreams of Stark killing him, his eyes no longer blue and his stare full of rage, as if the mortal could really erase with his blood the many nights he had belonged to him, begging Loki as his own god._

This time, when he lowers his lips to kiss him fully in his mouth, he doesn't bite him. He wants to savor Stark's taste, not to wound his too frail body. He has become the god of his little mortal world, but he can be a merciful god, if he wants to.

He adds a second finger, slowly stretching the mortal, enjoying the way he squirms and pants and begs with his eyes because he's too proud to beg aloud so soon. It doesn't matter. He has already made him beg, before: he knows how to make Stark's defense crumble, how to make him cry in pain and in pleasure, how to make him forget who he is and what his name is in front of the overwhelming pleasure he can gift him.

For now, Loki just wants to feel him quivering under his fingers, knowing he owns the mortal like he has never owned anything in the Nine Realms.

And, soon, he will own everything.

_He is building a weapon, thanks to the mortal. A new artifact which mixes magic and science and that no one will be able to stop._

_Sometimes he thinks he's building the weapon to destroy Thanos, sometimes to destroy Asgard and see the corpse of his false father, whose affection he desperately tried to gain, once – and it was never enough, he tried, he had been trying his whole life, and received nothing but rejection._

When he thrusts into the mortal – slowly, so slowly that Stark trembles and he trembles too – all he can feel is the mortal and his body. He basks in the sensation, surrounded by a warmth capable of making him forget for some precious moments of the cold monster hidden under his skin.

He withdraws and then thrusts again, with the same gentleness, and Stark moans and tries to take him deeper inside himself, tensing in vain against the silken rope that binds him to the bed. He can't help but smile when Stark's curses begin to sound almost like pleas.

He torments him some more, before thrusting faster and rougher, giving him what they both want.

Stark is scorching hot, his body is burning him and Loki wants more, he wants to melt the monster that is inside him and wants to mark the mortal, to grab his hips and dig his fingers into his skin until they are bloody red, to cover him in scars to show the world who Stark belongs to – but he doesn't do it, he can't, because even when his mind is overwhelmed by pleasure he is always perfectly aware of how easy it would be to kill him, of how frail that mortal of his actually is.

"Mine", he whispers, revealing the scream that is echoing in his mind when he comes inside Stark.

He lowers a hand to stroke his erection, and suddenly it's enough and Stark comes too, with a wordless cry. When he lays under him, panting, the mortal is too out of breath to say something in response, but in his adoring gaze Loki can find an answer louder than any words.

_Yours_.

_And sometimes he thinks that it's all a lie, he knows it every time he sees the mortal's eyes. But it doesn't matter to him, because he owns Stark anyway. He knows his fears, his past, his hopes and his pain. He knows him better than Stark knows himself._

He withdraws from him like he could slip far away from his own thoughts.

When he brings his hand to Stark's lips, the same hand that made him come, the mortal glares at him, but soon he open his mouth, sucking his fingers while he's still panting. His warm tongue, always ready to reply with fierce irony at every provocations and now so willing to obey, sends a pleasurable shiver along Loki's back.

As soon as Stark finishes to lick his fingers clean, he bends to kiss him, tasting his orgasm into his mouth. Then, he bits him until he draws blood and Stark bites him too, and now there's blood from both of them to stain that kiss of red, while they devour and wound each other and steal each other's breath.

When Loki ends the kiss, leaving Stark panting with a small stream of blood rolling down his chin, he feels the little tear in his lips healing already.

"It is a pity that you are only a mortal", he says lost in thought, brushing against the Reactor.

_It would be so easy._

_Ripping out the Reactor from his chest to see Stark die and then opening the blue contraption to solve the mystery of its unknown energy, and staring at the mortal's dead body and laughing, because now he'll be able to give it back to his foolish companions that believed themselves heroes, and enjoying their pain, their sorrow, their desperate expressions, and laughing again because he's alone once more – and he has always been – and he wants to kill him and he wants to own him forever and Stark is his property, he is his to destroy and to rebuilt, and Stark's eyes have never been so irritating before and if he killed him he would own him in the most extreme, wonderful and terrible way, and for a moment his fingers are really about to rob the Man of Iron of his heart, and he is horrified and exultant at the same time because of this temptation..._

"You could always make me immortal".

Even tied to the bed and helpless, Stark is smiling provocatively at him, with the same expression he showed Loki during their first encounters, before the scepter enslaved his will.

Loki can't help but smile in return, caressing the mortal's throat with featherlight fingers that could turn into a deadly weapon any minute. And he feels a pang of satisfaction when Stark accepts his touch, exposing his neck.

He bends over him to brush against his lips.

"I could always kill you".

_Digging his fingers into his jugular and withdrawing them only when they are soaked with blood, similar to a beast's – a monster's – claws, while the adoring gaze in Stark's eyes vanishes and only the cold of death remains._

_He would do it, only because he _can_do it._

"You like me too much to chose to kill me".

This time, Loki's smile resembles a wound.

"Do not test me, Stark".

Maybe one day he will really kill him. Before the Ragnarök, before the end of everything, before existence loses its meaning. Or maybe he'll force him to live all of that at his side.

There are no more words when he lies next to the mortal, freeing him from the bindings with a lazy movement of his fingers.

Stark falls asleep in a few minutes, with a peaceful expression that is the complete opposite of what he looked like during the first few times of his servitude.

Loki doesn't want to count the minutes he spends studying his mortal, while the silence caresses his thoughts.

The last image that crosses his mind when he finally lets himself close his eyes and give in to his own tiredness, is a golden apple.

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_Thank you for reading!_

_If you liked my story, maybe you'll be happy to know that I'm writing a multichapter fanfiction based on this one-shot. I've yet to publish it, since I want to finish it first, but it shouldn't take much time before I began posting it here._


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